


In the Rain

by icybluepenguin



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Seattle, Singing in the Rain, Smut, actor!tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icybluepenguin/pseuds/icybluepenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom runs into Erin (literally) and she's so surprised that she pretends not to know who he is.  A Tom fic inspired by Singing In the Rain.  I am OBSSESSED with the idea of Tom playing Don Lockwood.  This story follows the plot of the movie closely for the first few chapters; kind of a modern retelling.  (This is my first Tom fic, normally it's all Loki!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is based on the part in Singing In the Rain when Don jumps into Kathy’s car and she pretends not to know who he is, then mocks him for being a shallow movie star (in case you don’t know SitR backwards and upside down like I do). Fluff; smut starts in Ch 3.

I took a long sip of nearly-scalding coffee as I left the shop.  I didn’t have much time to chug the massive thing, but I desperately needed the caffeine to survive the evening so chug it I would.  I was two steps beyond the door, cup still glued to my lips and head just lowering from the long sip, when someone smashed into me from the side.  The cup and I went sprawling onto the wet pavement.  I cursed as my knee smacked down and again when my hands landed, the lid popping off the cup and splashing up onto my jacket and just about everywhere else.  

"Fuck fuck fuck Jesus fucking Christ…" I muttered, shaking hot coffee off my hand.  It wasn’t quite hot enough to burn but now I was out of coffee.  I wondered briefly if I could suck it out of my jacket without looking like a cracked-out addict, but my thoughts were interrupted.

"I am so sorry!  I wasn’t looking- I’m sorry, let me help you up…"  Big hands grasped my upper arm, helping me to my feet.

I was pissed.  I hate wasting coffee in the best circumstances, but today I had been unreasonably grumpy since I woke up.  I was itching for a fight or an excuse to kick something  _really hard_.  And now I was soaked with coffee that was rapidly cooling on my jacket, my knee ached, I had at least one scrape on my palm, and I was sprawled on the sidewalk.  This asshole was going to get it.  I glanced up, seeing an umbrella being held over my head.  _Tourist_ , I thought with annoyance.   _Perfect_.  I got my feet under me, crushing the empty coffee cup slightly in my hand as I sized up the coffee-spilling jerk in the gray Seattle afternoon light.

He was tall and lean, holding- as I had noticed- an umbrella above me with one long arm.  I saw his matte black quilted jacket- the front pockets seemed huge and the high, overlapping collar was left open, although he had the jacket zipped up.  There was something familiar about his face, chiseled jawline and high sharp cheekbones and knife-blade nose.  He was biting his lower lip in concern, eyes unwaveringly focused on me under a high forehead… and ginger-blonde curls…

I choked on my own spit, coughing and turning my head away for a moment.  This wasn’t possible.  There was just no way.  It must be the lack of caffeine clouding my brain.  Or wishful thinking.  Or a dream- maybe I was still in bed and having one of those super-realistic dreams where you wake up and can’t remember where you are.  It couldn’t  _possibly_  be-

"Are you alright, darling?  I’m so sorry, I was looking at my phone- I’m a little lost, to be honest… are you hurt?  I’m sorry-"

Well.  That cinched it.  Now that I was actually listening, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognized his voice before.  Smooth, posh, British- and apologizing profusely?  I looked back at him and gave him a weak smile.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine thanks," I said to T _homas fucking Hiddleston_.  My first coherent thought was,  _what the hell is he doing in **Seattle**  of all places?_  Followed closely by,  _don’t act like a crazy fangirl, don’t act like a crazy fangirl…_ I gestured at my soaked coat with my empty cup.  ”Just very short on caffeine.  Well, drinkable caffeine, that is.”

He looked crushed, as if I had said he’d broken my leg instead of just spilled my coffee.  ”I’m sorry.  Can I buy you another?” he asked hopefully.

"No," I sighed, looking at the long line in the coffee shop.  "No time.  I’m late already."  How amazing would that have been, Tom Hiddleston buying me coffee?  Quite the story for Tumblr.   _Don’t act like a crazy fangirl, don’t act like a crazy fangirl,_  echoed in my head like a mantra.

"Oh."  He scratched his neck with his free hand, then ran it down towards his collar, long fingers splayed out, clearly unhappy with the situation.  "Um, then, do you want an autograph or a photo?"

Don’t act like a crazy fangirl, don’t act like a crazy fangirl…  I opened my mouth and was completely astonished by what came out, in an unfortunately snarky tone, “An autograph?  Are you famous?”

_Well.  That’s taking “act cool” a bit far, don’t you think?  Of course you know who he is!  For fuck’s sake, you only spend **hours**  _ _staring at him on your dash!_  I scolded myself.  I could see the confusion in his eyes- obviously he thought I would know who he was.  I continued quickly to try and move on from the awkwardness.

"You said you were lost?  Where are you trying to go?"  I could at least help him out.  And if I got to spend a few more minutes with him before I had to go to work, who would blame me?  Even if I had stupidly backed myself into a corner by pretending not to know him.

"Ah… yes.  My driver dropped me off at the wrong building, and I’m trying to find my way to the right one."  He reached into one of the big front pockets on his jacket and showed me his phone, Google Maps bright on the screen.  I saw the little star at the top and smiled to myself.

“That’s on my way.  I’ll walk with you, it’s only a few more blocks.”  I pointed the direction we would go and started walking.  My knee twinged a bit on the first step and I stumbled.  Tom caught my arm and pulled me back under his umbrella, close to his side.  Close enough to smell his crisp, clean scent and feel the softness of his well-worn jacket.  His hand was firm on my arm, clearly an attempt to steady me, but all it did was make my knees even weaker.  Oh fuck…

“Why don’t you have an umbrella?  You’ll get all wet-”

_Oh Jesus.  Why am I not recording this?  I wonder if the mic on my phone could pick up his voice through my pocket…_  I laughed a little, trying to play it casual, and said, “It’s barely misting.  I don’t need an umbrella.  Besides, I’m already soaked-”  _Oh **come on**!_  “-uh, with coffee, I mean.”  My brain seemed incapable of not making innuendoes and my mouth was just going along with it.  “You’re from England; are you really afraid of a little rain?”  My blood ran cold for a second, thinking that I had given away my lie.   _No, no, I can just say I assumed from the accent.  You’re cool- **be cool**.  Don’t act like a crazy fangirl, don’t act like a crazy fangirl…_

“But umbrellas are such suave accessories.   All the cool kids use them,” he said with a silly grin, running his hand through his curls.  “I’m Tom.  Tom Hiddleston.”

“Erin. Mcintyre.”

“So nice to meet you, Erin.  Thank you for helping me, after I so rudely ran into you.”  He looked at me expectantly as we walked, with him still holding my arm close to his side.  I could see him out of the corner of my eye; he was watching to see if I recognized his name.  When I didn’t say anything, he added, “So… What do you do?”

I  _hated_  that question.  I never had a good answer- grad school had petered out and I worked two completely random jobs.  The theater where I worked in IT and the waitressing job I was heading to now when I needed extra cash.  I should have a career by now, at my age- that’s what my mother kept telling me- but this was working out for now.  Or so I kept telling myself.  I wasn’t ashamed, per se… well, maybe I was.  So I lied.

“I’m a geologist.”  It was a white lie, I told myself.  I had been working towards a Masters in geology before I had dropped out; so what if I wasn’t a  _practising_  geologist?  He wouldn’t know the difference.  “You?”

“Actor.  Stage, screen, you know…”  There was a casual pride in his voice, as if he really wanted to shout it from the rooftops but was trying hard to play it cool.  “Um, have you seen War Horse? Or Avengers?”

I thought about the pile of Marvel DVDs on my coffee table, not even put away on the shelf so that they were closer to the DVD player.  I hadn’t seen Warhorse; I wasn’t sure I could handle it.  I was quite the wuss when it came to emotional movies.  “I saw Avengers once.”   _Once a week,_  I snarked at myself.  “Were you in that?”

Tom grinned and I was so angry at myself for lying to him.  This conversation could have been so much more fun- I could have told him how much I loved his work, how talented I thought he was, how much I admired his optimism and enthusiasm for life.   But I couldn’t very well go back on it now- I was in too deep.  We waited for a light to change so we could cross the street and I could see the excitement in his eyes.  I could get lost in those eyes- they were so expressive and open.  I moved a little farther away from him, trying to make it seem natural.  I wasn’t coping well with being so close to his lean body; close enough to reach up and trail my fingertips down his neck if I wanted.  And I did want to- I had a thing for necks and his was gorgeous.   _Don’t act like a crazy fangirl, don’t act like a crazy fangirl…_  So I moved, pretending to watch the traffic.

“I was.”  His voice dropped, becoming a low, breathy growl.  _Loki’s voice._   “I’m Loki.  Hard to recognize me with blond hair, though, isn’t it?”

I nearly died right there on the spot.  It was a good thing I had moved away; I don’t think he saw me shudder as if someone had run ice directly down my spine.  The shudder turned into a delicious weightless sensation in my stomach- nerves, excitement, and arousal all swirling inside.  God, what could I do to get him to do that again?

To cover my revealing, visceral reaction to that voice-  _that voice!_ \- I said something I would regret for the rest of my life.  ”Loki?  I didn’t really pay much attention to him.  He was just the bad guy.  That was you?”  My tone was unfortunately dismissive instead of just disinterested.  As if Loki hadn’t been the embodiment of all my sexual fantasies since I saw him in Thor.  As if I hadn’t thought every day about telling the very man next to me how amazing his performance had been.  

Tom hmph-ed as we crossed the street.  He didn’t try to pull me back under his umbrella.   ”How do you ‘not pay attention’ to the villain in a movie?  He’s the driving force of the plot!  Without the villain, all you have is people in spandex talking to each other.”  His free hand waved around, punctuating his frustrated words.  Long fingers curled and flexed, showing his annoyance.

"Uh- well-" I was deep in the lie now and I really didn’t want to be there.  My stupid mouth, why didn’t I ever stop to think before I said something?  ”I mean, taking over Earth?  That was the whole plan?  Even with that glow stick and those big space whales, did he-“

"Space whales?  _Space whales_?  You mean the huge Chitauri pouring out of a gigantic hole in the sky?  Those would have  _wrecked_ -“

Oh, he was really getting into it, gesticulating wildly.

"And what’s wrong with taking over Earth?  That’s only been  _every_  comic villain’s plan since the beginning of the genre.  Loki doesn’t really want to enslave Earth- certainly it appeals to his megalomania and his belief in his birthright as a king, but he’s focused on Asgard, Earth is really because of the deal he made with-“

I snorted, caught up in the moment, forgetting who, exactly, I was talking to.  ”Oh sure, he was just playing some long con to get to Asgard-“

"He’s Loki!" Tom snapped, jaw clenching.  I had hit a nerve.  "He’s always playing a long con.  I spent years trying to give him compelling motivation, more than just mayhem and destruction, he’s quite broken underneath the careful facade of… of confidence and cunning…"

I was torn.  I wanted to hear what else he had to say about Loki’s psyche.  It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.  At the same time, I desperately wanted out of this conversation.   I was both fascinated by his insights and near tears from having to continue my lie.  This was  _not_  how I thought meeting Tom Hiddleston would go, if I ever got the chance.  I wanted to come clean and tell him that I’d over-analyzed Loki’s every facial expression and teary eye in great detail.  That I loved the depth he had given Loki. That I had filthy, filthy fantasies about- okay, maybe I didn’t want to tell him  _that_.

But we were at the front door of the hotel he was going to and I was late.  I cursed and kicked myself for wasting this chance.  I’d never see him again- how could I possibly show up at an event and ask for his picture after this fiasco?  Maybe if it all hadn’t started with spilled coffee and a bruised knee, things would have gone so much better…

"Here’s your building, Tom," I interrupted.  My voice shook a little, but he didn’t notice.  His eyes traveled over me for a moment and he took a deep breath.  His face relaxed and he smiled a little, possibly just a bit embarrassed by the strength of his outburst.

"Thank you.  Have a nice evening, Erin, it was good to meet you."

I shook the hand he held out to me, his skin warm and his grip deliciously firm.  Then he turned and entered through the huge glass doors, pausing in the entryway to close his umbrella.  I watched him until he made his way into the lobby.  I walked around the corner and took a deep breath myself.  _Time to get your head back on straight,_   I thought.   _Don’t want to spill anything tonight._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the “jumping out of the cake” scene. Although there’s no cake or singing. The character taking the place of Lina Lamont is more of a cold-hearted bitch than a clueless diva, so, yeah. I don’t know why they’re together either. I’m sure we’ll find out later. I’m making up all the other actors except Tom, because I’m lazy. Still fluff; Chapter 3 will be more interesting, but might take a while to write, I’m short on time nowadays.

I rushed through changing into my uniform, peeling out of my cold wet jacket and chucking it into my bag.  I’d regret that after, but I was so, so late.  I shimmied into the black pants and shirt, noting with dismay that my underwear reeked of coffee.  Not much I could do about that.  I wasn’t about to wait on a fancy party with no bra.  I stopped in front of the mirror, tying my black satin tie and examining my hair, damp from the misting outside.  The new hair gel seemed to be holding alright, though, not too many stray curls.  I tried to fix the ones in front that were always too limp but quickly gave up.   _No time, no time, dammit._   I was trying  _very_  hard not to think about why I was so late.  If I did, I would either end up high as a kite with delayed excitement- or shaking in a corner with disappointment that I had met my idol and  _lied_  to his face.  Repeatedly.  Well, that could all wait until I got home.  I had nothing to do for the rest of the night other than alternate between the two.

I ran to the elevator and managed to skid into the ballroom just as the briefing about the party began.  The head waiter caught my eye disapprovingly, but didn’t call me out.  There was nothing too special about this event, so I only listened with half an ear, edging closer to my friend Jill.  Big wigs, important people, open bar, yada yada yada.  I disliked this job- I’d much rather be hunched behind my computer fixing the theater’s website, blissfully alone in a back room- but it paid really well.  Jill had gotten me a trial period a few months ago and I was now at the top of the list when the hotel needed more wait staff- luckily it was more of a freelance thing than a full-time job.  I could suck it up for a few hours a couple of times a month or so.

Jill glanced at me and I widened my eyes, trying to convey that I had a Good Story for her.  Her head tilted and a small smile appeared.  She winked at me and I grinned back.  It would probably take all night to tell her about the walk here, only getting a few minutes to chat in passing, but she’d tell me if I should freak out- or  _freak out._   She didn’t know the full depth of my obsession with Tom Hiddleston- no one offline really did- but she was a huge Supernatural fan, so she’d understand better than most.  I had planned on keeping my extreme idiocy private, but I was having trouble staying still or paying attention to anything; I needed to get this off my chest.  I shifted from one foot to the other and back again, earning a glare from the man next to me.

We were dismissed from the briefing and scattered to our various jobs.  If it weren’t so cloudy- it was January, though, of course it was cloudy- there would have been a magnificent view of the sunset over the Sound in the distance through the tall windows.  The room was decorated in shades of gold and bronze, creating a warm atmosphere against the chill outside.  Tables took up half the space, with a dance floor and small band in the other half.  This was quite the shindig- I should have paid more attention to who was throwing it.   _Must be Bill Gates or Paul Allen doing a banquet for charity or something._ I’d figure it out eventually, someone was sure to make a speech.

Within half an hour, the guests had started trickling in and I was busy fetching and delivering drinks to people whose cars were worth more than all the money I’d ever earn in my lifetime put together.  I had a brief flash of panic when I saw one of the owners of the theater I worked at wandering around, but he wouldn’t know who I was even if he bothered to look at me.  It was a strange collision of my two jobs, though, and I was a little weirded out as I turned back to the bar to drop off a tray of empty glasses.

"Oh,  _hell_ o,” came a voice behind me, just as I set down the tray.  The voice had a lilting, mocking tone and I squeezed my eyes shut tight for a second.

**_Fuck no,_**  I thought.  What were the fucking odds?  I turned slowly, not sure if I was cursing myself for good luck or bad.  There was Tom, his mouth stretched wide in a wicked, satisfied grin.  He looked me up and down deliberately, making me very self-concious of my server’s uniform.

"And what sort of  _geology_  are you doing here tonight, love?” he practically cackled.

I flushed.  “I, uh, ah-“  He looked  _good_  out of that quilted coat.  Dark slacks and a snug button-down shirt, just the top button open.  The shirt was steel blue, bringing out that color in his eyes- eyes that were staring at me with single-minded intensity.  I suppressed the urge to squirm under that gaze, guilt at my lie surging in my stomach, mixing sickeningly with embarrassment and, yes, a bit of arousal from being so close to him.  I dropped my eyes to his chest and focused on one of the small, straining buttons.  I couldn’t look at his stupid, handsome face without wanting to throw up right now.

"Don’t tell me, let me guess," he said in a low, gleeful voice.  "Are you here to give a lecture?  Wait, I know, you’re here to examine all the jewelry; there’s quite a lot of ‘rocks’ here tonight.  Although that does make you sound a bit like a jewel thief, darling." 

"So I have a second job, that’s nothing to be ashamed of," I snapped with self-righteous annoyance, ignoring the fact that I was the one who had lied.  "We can’t all be rich comic book villains.  It’s pretty rude to make fun of me for it."

"Oh, but you were so supportive of Loki and his- what did you call them, space whales?  I’m going to give at least as good as I got, hm?"  He smirked at me, leaning his weight on one elbow on the bar.  He clasped his hands together in front of him, really settling in for whatever revenge he had planned.

I swallowed.  Fuck, he looked good enough to eat like that.  I could just see a bit of collarbone peeking out from under his collar.  I dropped my eyes to his hands, long fingers intertwined like… no, I couldn’t finish that thought.  I cast around in my brain for something witty to say, then- as the silence stretched out awkwardly- for  _anything_ to say at all.  I was developing a headache under his scrutiny and my thoughts were far too sluggish to keep up with him at the moment.  He was definitely winning this round.

"Tom…"  A manicured hand slid over his shoulder slowly to accompany the little whiny voice from behind him.  Dark pink nails dug into his suit jacket.

A muscle ticked in Tom’s jaw and he seemed to be reluctant as he glanced over his shoulder.  “Ah, you found me, Serena,” he murmured.

I blinked.  Serena Pratchett?  There had been a nuclear-level freak out on Tumblr when a photo had surfaced of her and Tom in a restaurant last week.  The way she was hanging off of Tom, it certainly looked like the rumors were true.

“Really, Tommy, you have to stop letting your fans take advantage of you.”  She gave me a nasty little smile as she leaned into Tom’s side.  “You should be ashamed,” she said to me.  “He’s here for a party and you’re keeping him from enjoying himself.  Selfish, don’t you think?”

Outrage boiled up in my throat, but I choked it down.  I had to be professional.   _Too bad I can’t say the same about her.  Bitch._   I took a breath.   ** _He_** _came to talk to **me**.  Honestly, I’m not even sure if I’m happy about it._   “I’m sorry, ma’am.  Can I get you something?  A drink or an appetizer?”  I plastered a fake smile on my face, ignoring the way she possessively slipped her arm around his, clearly marking her territory.   _Huh, Tumblr was actually right about her._   I just wanted to claw her hands off of him and pull her perfectly straight hair until she cried.  Which wasn’t like me at all, but she just seemed so… spiteful, it was bringing out the worst in me.  Not that I was going to show it.

Serena leaned up, pressing her breasts obviously against Tom’s arm.  “You have the most desperate fans, Tommy, I’ve been telling you over and over…” she purred in his ear, her sexy tone at odds with her rude words.

Was she really that threatened by me?  I was just a waitress Tom had stopped to talk to.  It’s not like I was unbuttoning my top in public or even touching him- I had, in fact, been fairly frozen in place and tongue-tied when she came over, so why did she think I was trying to seduce him?

"She’s not a fan.  What was it you said, darling, about not paying any attention to Loki?” Tom nodded towards me, his smirk turned into something tense and unhappy.  “We were just having a chat about… geology.”

"Geology?  Why in the world are you over here talking about  _anything_  besides a drink order with a  _waitress_  when you could be dancing with me?”  The pure contempt in her voice on the word “waitress” set my teeth on edge.  “Really, you’ll make me feel like I’m not important to you.  Are you trying to make me feel jealous, Tommy?” she pouted.

I turned away slightly, her sugary-sweet manipulation sickening me more than a little.  Was he really with her?  Why?  She was obviously a Grade A bitch.  I could see his jaw tick every time she called him “Tommy” and the way his shoulders were just a bit tense, like he was trying to hold himself apart from her without being obvious about it.  Was she really good in bed or something?

"Uh, no, of course not," Tom said reluctantly.  "Really, we were just talking."

Serena wrapped her arms around one of his and pulled him upright, away from the bar.  “Come dance,” she demanded.  She batted her lashes up at him and made sure he got a good look at her cleavage at the same time.  She might as well have just yelled,  _Pay attention to me!_

I rolled my eyes as she dragged Tom towards the dance floor.  None of my business, I told myself.  I watched, though, as they danced.  I couldn’t help it- he was grace personified, whether or not his arms were full of Crazybitch.  I imagined briefly what it would be like, dancing with him.  Wrapped in his long arms, breathing that crisp clean scent of him, his breath warm on my ear as he leaned down to whisper something.  Leaning against his chest, hearing his heart beat as he rested his chin on my head, feeling the vibration of his contented hum…

I shook myself.  What was I doing?  I was at work.  Even if he weren’t dating that bitch, he wasn’t going to be mine.  I’d interacted with him twice- that was more than most fans got.  And if those interactions had been full of lies and sarcasm… well, I was the one who had lied in the first place.  It was my own fault.  I wasn’t likely going to get a chance to fix it.

I stayed far away from Tom and Serena for the next hour.  I tried not to even look at them as they mingled.  It was hard though; my eyes naturally searched out Tom’s tall form in the crowd, just drinking in his easy smile and his power stance.  He was _stunning_.  I watched as he charmed the older woman he was talking to, his hand occasionally rubbing his throat slowly as he spoke.  He glanced at me once, catching me watching him.  The smirk was back on his face and he gave me a cheeky, Loki-esque wink.  I flushed-  _oh God, what if he could read what I was thinking on my face?_ \- and I turned away. 

Directly into Serena.

I gave a little gasp, stumbling back in surprise.  The drinks on my tray sloshed and I tilted the tray back by instinct, wetting my arm but keeping the actress from getting any on her dress.  I gritted my teeth; now I smelled like coffee  _and_  alcohol.  Tonight was not a good night for my clothes.

Serena shrieked.  An honest-to-God shriek.  “Watch where you’re going, you idiot!  This is a Vera Wang, you clumsy-”

I stumbled over an apology, my quieter words lost under her tirade.  I slumped a little, shoulders rounding not as much against her words as against the increasing attention that was being paid to us as her voice continued to rise.  I could feel everyone’s eyes on us- I could just  _feel_  their disdain.  I saw the head waiter heading in our direction, but Tom arrived first.

“Serena, dear, calm down.  Let me look,” he said soothingly, turning the irate woman away from me and making a show of looking over her dress and running his hands down her bare arms.  “Ah see, nothing’s there, not even a drop on you.  Why don’t you leave off yelling at the girl, darling?” 

Serena glared at me over her shoulder.  I was sure that at least half her anger was because of the wink Tom had given me, the one that had distracted me, even though it was clearly supposed to be mocking.  I looked back at her, trying to school my heated face into a bland expression.  I wasn’t going to back down from her; at the same time, I didn’t want to make anything worse by showing my own anger. 

Phil stood by my side now.  I mostly tuned out what he was saying to Serena, just focusing on not giving that bitch any kind of satisfaction.  In my peripheral vision, Tom looked upset as Phil spoke and Serena snapped at the waiter.  Tom occasionally tried to put in a word to remind her that there had been no harm done, but Serena barreled right over him.

Phil pulled me aside.  He looked fed up, although not with me.  He looked like he was only talking to me to get Serena to leave him alone.  I could understand the feeling.  “I’m going to need you to go home, Erin.  She’s going to keep making a fuss about this.  You’ll be paid for the time you’ve already done.”

I huffed.  This wasn’t fair!  Cutting my hours short for an accident that hadn’t even hurt her?  What was wrong with that woman?  But there was no point in arguing.  She would cause a scene if I stayed and then I’d never get called back to this job. 

“Yeah, I get it,” I nodded to Phil, gritting my teeth again.  “Sorry about all this.”

This time when I felt eyes on me, I saw both Serena and Tom watching me leave.  Serena looked triumphant.  Tom looked concerned as his eyes followed me.  I took one long last look at him, trying to memorize him, and exited the ballroom.   _What a fucked up night.  God, I can’t wait to be home.  No more actors or actresses.  Please._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished this chapter. It’s been plagued with awful, terrible post-partum depression, sick kids, and lack of sleep among other problems. There is smut, but it’s quick and short; I’m just not in a smut-writing place right now (hopefully that will change by the time I get to the next chapter!)

I stared hard at my computer.  The laptop was closed, sitting on my desk, as always.  But I wasn't sure if I wanted to even open it after last night.  It felt strange to go onto Tumblr and look at pictures of Tom or even to interact with my friends.  I couldn't- just _couldn't_ \- tell them what had happened.  I was horribly embarrassed in the light of day about how I had lied to Tom.  I had ruined what could have been an amazing experience and I had no one to blame but myself.  I had new information about Tom, but I didn't want to share it.  I wanted to keep it, selfishly, all to myself, as if sharing it would make the memory less special.

I shook my head and took a sip of coffee.  Was I over-thinking this?  Surely someone else had already posted about Tom being in Seattle and dating Serena.  There were probably pictures, even.  It was going to be a long weekend if I didn't go online.  I didn't have to work at the theater until Monday.  What else was I going to do?  Go outside?  With a shrug and an internal chuckle at my own joke, I flipped open the laptop and loaded Tumblr.

There _were_ new pictures.   They were all over my dash.  Someone at the party had snapped some nice ones of Tom dancing with Serena.  And a couple of him eating dinner, although those weren't as high quality.  I wondered who taken them.  A waiter?  Phil frowned on cell phones on the job.  A guest?  It didn't really matter, I supposed.  I took another long sip of coffee, staring at the pictures but ignoring any commentary.  I didn't want to read my friends screaming about his hands or his legs or his shirt- not yet anyway. 

 _God, he had looked good,_ I thought.  I took in every bit of him in the picture, from the fluffy curls to his big hand pressed against Serena's back to his shiny stylish shoes.  I toyed with the collar of my t-shirt, projecting my memory of his smell, the feeling of his hand on my arm, the intense attention in his eyes as we talked- or, rather, sniped at each other- onto the picture.  Remembering his voice, the way he grinned, the grace he had...

My eyes unfocused, not really seeing the screen any longer, my mind drifting into a daydream as I remembered all the little details I could from last night and using them to enrich the fantasy.

_Dancing...  His arm is wrapped around me, his broad hand warm on my lower back through the silk of my dress.  His other hand holds mine close over his heart.  He spins us slowly to the music, effortlessly leading me in smooth, graceful motion.  He pulls me closer to him with firm pressure on my back.  I can feel the soft fabric of his button down shirt and his heartbeat under my hand as we sway._

_“Do you know what you do to me, when I hold you like this?” he murmurs, breath hot in my ear._

_I smile a little, looking up at him through my lashes.  “Why don’t you tell me?”  I squeeze his hand and tilt my pelvis closer to his, feeling his cock hard against me._

_“Tell you?” he rumbles softly.  Suddenly, he twirls me out and around, pulling me back sharply so that his chest presses against my back, his arms wrapped around my waist.  His lips tease my neck, light little nips, sending shivers down my spine.  “I’ve got a much, much better idea.”   And then he's urging me off the dance floor, away from the party, to an abandoned hallway._

_He pins me against the wall, mouth hungry and insistent on mine.  One hand cups a breast, brushing his thumb across my dress in teasing circles, a stark contrast to his impatient tongue._

_"Here?" I ask with a breathless laugh.  "Isn't this a little... exposed?"_

_He pulls back, just a little, and gives me a mischievous grin.  "Then you'd better come fast," he whispers against my mouth.  "I know I will."_

_His free hand hikes up my dress, slower than I'd like, palm skimming up the outside of my leg.  He moves across, trailing fingers over my skin, dancing them along the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh until I'm gasping into his kisses.  I can feel his lips curl into a smile as he inches closer to my pussy._

_"You're taking your time," I mutter, a bit testy.  "Worse for you than me if we're caught."_

_"So impatient, love.  Would you rather I just rip off your knickers, sink into you, and fuck you into oblivion?"_

_"Yes," I hiss.  Although..._

_"Oh well, all you had to do was ask," he says with a cheeky wink.  His fingers touch my mound and he starts, eyes widening as he realizes I'm going commando.  Those long digits move down, dipping into my folds.  "No knickers?  Oh darling, you've been bare all night and you didn't tell me...  Are you sure you're not an exhibitionist?  You're soaking," he moans into my mouth._

_I press my face to his shoulder, grinding against his palm.  "Oh, fuck, Tom," I whimper.  All my attention is focused between my legs, the firm touch of his index finger when he finds my clit, rubbing just the way I like.  I squeeze my eyes shut, knees weak and shaking.  I can't stop the little breathy sounds I'm making against the smooth fabric of his shirt._

_His other hand leaves my hip and I can hear his zipper above my ragged breathing.  He coaxes one leg up onto his hip, fingers leaving my clit, cock poised at my entrance for a moment before sinks into me.  Just a bit, then back again, over and over, going deeper each time until his hips are pressed tightly to mine._

_"Oh god, we're going to get caught," I mutter, but my words end in a loud squeak as he draws back and plunges again.  My muscles contract around him reflexively and he groans long and deep.  The sound makes me do it again, rocking my body against his, offering myself to him._

_"Well then, be_ quieter _, love."  His hand moves from my thigh to cup my ass, squeezing in warning.  His free hand twines in my hair, pulling my head away from his shoulder to claim my mouth again.  Hungry, passionate kisses, his tongue dancing over mine as I wrap my arms around his neck, my own fingers twisting tightly in his curls._

_He moves faster, short hard strokes, barely pulling back before slamming forward again.  His body pinning me to the wall, holding me up, holding me still while his pelvic bone grinds on my clit.  I'm keening and gasping into his mouth, breath coming faster and using what little leverage I have to press  against him as his hips pound in a brutal rhythm._

_"So close," I whine, hips moving desperately of their own accord, seeking just that little bit more that would tip me over the edge._

_His mouth, hot and wet, travels down my neck, his hand in my hair pulling to expose my skin.  "Come for me," he murmurs.  "Do it, now, let me feel you.  Let me feel what I do to you-"  His teeth close on the junction between neck and shoulder, sucking hard.  I arch, trying to stifle my cry, muscles seizing and trembling around him, head falling back.  My hands clutch his hair until I open my eyes, breathing deep and savoring the heavy, sated feeling.  He changes his pace, a little slower, strokes longer, and in a moment he is groaning in short breaths, eyes squeezing shut at his own release._

_He leans his forehead against mine as he lowers my leg back to the floor, breathing hard.  “My god, love, that was fantastic.”_

I slowly opened my eyes in front of my laptop, carefully pulling my hand out of my pajama pants, breathing unevenly.  That hadn’t been my normal Tom fantasy, but after having seen him dancing last night… It had been, as my imaginary Tom had said, fantastic. _Wow, I could do that all weekend,_ I thought wryly to myself.  _Who am I kidding?  I probably will._  

*****

I was walking with my open work laptop cradled in one arm, trying to type a test email with my free hand as I walked.  Stupid email system, why was Julia the only person not getting email?  And why did this have to be taken care of _now_ , before I even got back to my workspace?  There was no reason her mail kept getting sucked into the ether that I could find.  I let out a frustrated snarl as I hit send.

"Well well, if it isn't Miss 'he's just the bad guy'," a voice drawled.  "Having trouble?  Need a rock or a mineral to bash your laptop with?"

I yelped in surprise, then raised my eyes from my screen to the hall in front of me to see who had spoken.  I gaped at him.  Literally _gaped_ at him like a landed fish.  There was Tom- assuming I hadn't hit my head on the walk and was hallucinating this- leaning casually against the door jam ahead of me.  Wearing a damn-near-see-through t-shirt and fucking-painted-on jeans.  My mouth watered at the sight, despite the gaping shock I was in.

"What the- are you _following_ me?  What the hell are _you_ doing here?" I stuttered.  My heart was pounding, with reaction, adrenaline, arousal, I didn't know which.  "How- what-"

He grinned wide, full of glee, as if I had said something particularly funny, instead of just spewing random words that popped into my head.  I glared at him, taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart and reeling mind.  I snapped my laptop shut and hugged it to my chest like a shield.  He looked even better today than he had Friday night.  Something about that t-shirt, which hid _absolutely nothing_ \- for fuck’s sake, I could see his abs.  And, while he wasn’t in a spotlight, the hall was far better lit than the gray Seattle streets or the dim lighting of the charity dinner.  The light glinted off his dark gold curls and highlighted the high cheekbones and the sharp line of his nose.

"What I mean to say is," I tried again, my words carefully enunciated and laced annoyance.  "Stop sneaking up on me and while you're at it, you're coming across as a stalker."  There, that was a little better.  "What are you doing here?"

"I'm in the play showing here.  A friend of mine wrote it, asked me to headline.  We're doing previews here before he tries New York.  I was told to come find the woman who works IT, since my phone's having trouble connecting to the wifi."  He raised an eyebrow at me, glancing at my laptop clutched in a deathgrip in my arms.  “That’s you, is it?”

“Oh yeah, that’s me, I guess,” I said dumbly.  He was in the new play _here_?  He was in a play, in Seattle, at the Moore?  How had I not known that?  Between stalking him online and _working_ here, it seemed ridiculous that I hadn't known.  I felt like the world had turned upside down and gravity was now pulling everything towards the ceiling.  My stomach lurched uncomfortably.  “Phone trouble?  Let’s go to my office, I’ll take a look.”  _Oh yeah, that’s a great idea, be alone with him in a small confined space, Erin._   I tried not to look at him as we walked down the hallway.

“So,” Tom started a bit awkwardly.  “You’re not a geologist even a little bit, are you?”

I flushed, staring at the floor.  “No,” I mumbled.  “I was going for a Master’s, but… Long story.  I work here and at the hotel- well, I guess I don’t work at the hotel anymore.”  I shrugged, as if I didn’t care what he thought.  As if I didn’t care that Mr. Eton-and-Cambridge-Firsts-in-Classics-Etc-Etc would know that I had dropped out of graduate school.  I took a deep breath to calm myself down.  God, he was walking so close that I could smell him again, that same crisp clean scent from Friday but now with a little sweat underneath that.  The scent was doing nothing for my sense of vertigo.  I was almost dizzy with it.

"Actually, I'm sort of happy to see you, Erin. I feel terrible about you losing your job at the hotel.  I wanted to apologize for Serena but they wouldn’t give me your information.  I asked."  His hand played with the hem of his shirt as we walked.  “I’m sorry about it all, she gets... jealous.  I spent all weekend feeling guilty for you losing your job.  It was my fault.”

“Ah.  Oh, well, it’s okay, T-Tom.”  I stumbled embarrassingly over his name.  It still felt rather strange to say it outloud to the man himself and I was thoroughly embarrassed having him apologizing to me, especially since I had lied to him more often than not.  I didn't exactly have the high ground.  “I still have this one anyway.”

He gave a rueful little chuckle.  “Well, Serena’s in the play too.  But, I promise, I won’t let her bitch out the manager to get you fired from here.  You don’t deserve that.  You might have to actually go become a geologist without this job.”

I glanced at him with wide eyes, feeling the sting of his words, to see that he was joking- albeit with a little more edge than was strictly polite.  I shook my head.  “I guess I deserve that,” I muttered grudgingly.  “Well, she won’t have any reason to talk to John if you stop stalking me.”  I used the same tone he just had, light but with just a bit of cutting truth.  He had the grace to look away, biting his lip.

I opened the door to the IT office- although “office” was a generous word, it was more of a closet cluttered with cables and old tech- and set down my laptop on the desk.  I dug for the power cable, my back half-turned to Tom.  "Just unlock your phone and give it to me, I'll look at it," I said as I leaned over the desk farther.  The damn cable had nearly slipped off the back side.  I glanced over my shoulder at him to see his eyes skitter away from the desk and up to the wall behind it.  _Was he just checking out my ass?_   I blushed at the very idea.

I could see the outline of his phone in his pocket, his jeans were so snug.  Now it was my turn for my eyes to skitter away- that pocket was too close to… other areas.  Tom pulled out the phone, although I couldn't figure out how he found the space for his fingers in there and he reached to put it on my desk.

"Wait a moment," he said.  He grabbed my shoulder and turned me fully towards him.  "Is that a _Loki_ shirt you're wearing?"

I looked down at my green "Loki Charms" t-shirt.  I had forgotten I was wearing it today.  And I certainly hadn't expected to run into Tom ever again.  Well, now I was _really_ found out.  "Uh, um, yes..."

"Is that new, or...?"  He raised a skeptical eyebrow.  He knew I hadn't bought the shirt in the two days since I'd met him.  And he knew I wouldn’t be wearing it if I’d only seen Avengers once, like I’d told him.

"Um," I sighed.  Best to come clean completely, I supposed.  Especially if he was going to be at the theatre nearly every day rehearsing- we were sure to run into each other again by accident and half my wardrobe was Marvel shirts.  "I _may_ be a bigger Loki fan than I let on."

"How much bigger?" he asked, trying to hide the smile twitching at his lips with a long finger.

"I've seen all the movies with Loki," I whispered in a rush, staring at that finger stroking his lips.  I couldn’t help it.  "About a kajillion times."  I couldn't meet his eyes.  My face felt like it was on fire and I stifled an urge to fidget by shoving my hands in my pockets.

He dropped his hand and his mouth split into a grin- a huge enthusiastic grin- and then he laughed.  "So you _are_ a fan, hmm?"

“You could say that,” slipped out before I could stop it.  I was sure my face got three shades redder and I turned back to my laptop; anything to put some distance between me, the handsome grinning man next to me, and this confession.

“Oh?  And what does _that_ mean, darling?”  He moved so that he was leaning his ass against my desk, arms crossed over his chest and _towering_ over me as I tapped aimlessly at my keyboard.  When I didn't answer, he rested his hands behind him on the desk, giving me a nice, close-up view of his torso through his thin shirt- by accident, I was sure.  "Come on, tell me," he coaxed, suppressed laughter in his voice.

 _Oh fuck it.  I’m going to get fired anyway, once Serena finds out, might as well go out with a bang.  A hideously embarrassing bang._ "I probably know more about you than you do, that's how much of a fan I am."

Tom threw his head back and laughed again.  It was loud, uninhibited, and contagious.  I found myself fighting back a giggle as I reached for his phone on the desk to fix his wifi.  Apparently he didn't mind that I was a fangirl.

"I doubt that," he said eventually.  "I bet you don't know... hm, that I like chocolate hazelnut truffles."

I snorted.  "But who _doesn't_ like chocolate hazelnut truffles?"

"Someone allergic to hazelnuts, probably."

This time I laughed out loud with him.  He was too charming, too easy to get along with.  If I didn't examine it, it was easy to forget who, exactly, he was.  I tapped through settings screens, trying to be sure I didn't accidentally hit the "recent apps" button or anything like that.  I _really_ didn't want to invade his privacy.

"Fixed," I pronounced a minute later, handing him back his phone.  His fingers brushed mine, warm and slightly rough. 

"Thanks.  You know, I still owe you a cup of coffee.  Or maybe three- the one I spilled was huge.  You don't have an addiction, do you, darling?"

“Addiction is not _nearly_ a strong enough word.” 

"What do you say we go get your fix then?  You can keep telling me how big a fan you are and I'm sure I can find something you don't know about me to tell you."

I snorted again, muttering, "That doesn't sound egotistical at all."  I snapped my laptop shut.  I did need more caffeine, after all.  It would be a dream come true, coffee with Tom Hiddleston.  “There’s a good coffee shop a few blocks from here.  I'll show you real Seattle coffee.”

Tom met me at the front of the theater, dressed in his quilted jacket and a baseball cap pulled down low on his face, umbrella held in one hand.  Somewhat sheepishly, he explained that now that people knew he was here, he didn't want to be mobbed going for coffee.  His tone of voice made it obvious he had chosen the word "mobbed" as a dramatic overstatement and he chuckled after he said it.  I told him, only a bit snarkily, if he didn't want to stick out as a tourist in Seattle, he should ditch the umbrella and buy a hoodie.  He'd look a lot less British.

Coffee was wonderful.  I was intimidated at first by his intelligence, his education- worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep up.  By the time we had walked to the coffee shop, though, I gotten over the last of my nerves around him, as well as _most_ of my guilt for lying to him so often.  He was just so _normal_.  Now that I'd come clean- on everything- I could tell him just how talented I thought he was.  I, shyly, told him how I loved the depth he had given Loki.  He had the courtesy to look humble about it under the brim of his cap, but also talked animatedly about the process he had used to develop the character once he realized how interested I was.  I soaked up every word, a rapt audience as he babbled happily all through the the time it took to drink our coffee- a delicious, juicy single origin Ethiopian pour over.

And if part of me was revelling in the idea of seeing him rehearse every day, well, he didn’t need to know that.  And I was.  I didn't intend to bother him, but there was quite a bit of downtime in my job and I often watched rehearsals for shows.  The idea of sitting in the back of the theater, or in the balcony, watching him learn the lines, the blocking, the cues.  Hearing his voice echoing through the old theater...  I bit back a smile just thinking about it.

We walked back to the Moore, still chatting as if we'd been friends for weeks.  I even got up the nerve to mention how much I enjoyed watching him dance on interviews.  He laughed- god, he laughed so much and so easily- and asked if I was thinking of any one in particular with a sparkle of mischief in his blue eyes.  I shrugged, looking away and hoping that my face didn't look as red as it felt.  I mumbled something noncommittal and I was sure that he knew exactly what dance move I was thinking of.

Once inside the lobby, he pulled off his baseball hat and ruffled his smushed curls.  I watched that casual movement, the way he fluffed up the front with quick, sure motions of his fingers, and I wanted suddenly, desperately to get away from him.  Back to my normal life, where I hadn't just had a friendly cup of coffee with my idol.  With a celebrity.  With a man I had spent hours (hilariously, lovingly) objectifying on the internet.  It was all suddenly just too _weird_.  I needed time to process what was going on.  So I smiled and said goodbye, just about to head back to my office- and possibly break into tears for no reason- when he spoke up.

"Erin, if I can ask, why did you lie?  About being a fan and knowing who I was."  He rubbed his throat slowly as he spoke, blue eyes glued on me. 

"I was cranky you spilled my coffee," I said ruefully, mouth quirked in a half-smile.  "I said one stupid thing without thinking and then kept digging myself deeper." 

"Ah.  I did knock you down, you had a right to be cranky.  I'm glad it wasn't because you were embarrassed about being a fan."  He stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around me and gave me a huge hug.  He was warm and his jacket was soft and all I wanted to do was melt against him, even though I still felt so strange about the situation.  His chin rested on my shoulder for a long moment- not long enough- before he pulled away.

"Thanks," I said shakily when he released me.  "For coffee, I mean.  Not that the hug wasn't nice, too."  I mentally rolled my eyes at myself.  _Smooth._

"Looking forward to seeing you around, Erin," he grinned.  And, with a little wave, he walked off towards the stage.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m actually pretty pleased with this chapter. I like the way it’s structured and development of characters and plot (if it can be called plot). It’s far perfect, but I like it. I hope you like it too. There is (again, sadly) no smut, I’m so so sorry! I just couldn’t find a way to fit it in. But I promise, there’s no plot to this story after they get together, it’s all just sex. (I should probably figure out some plot.) One reference to Singing In the Rain, one to The Producers, and a lot of Seattle stuff inside. Huge thanks to my betas!!

_I have your coffee.  If you want to see it alive again, you will come to my dressing room with $40,000 in unmarked bills.  And a muffin.  No cops.  To show I mean business, I’ve left you its lid.  Come quickly before your precious coffee loses even more pieces._

The note, scrawled in Tom’s bold, curvy handwriting was sitting in the center of my desk when I returned from the restroom.  The paper was splattered with coffee droplets and underneath it was indeed the lid of a takeout cup that he’d scribbled with red Sharpie to look like blood.  I couldn’t help but grin at his goofy attention to detail.

Rehearsals for  _The_   _Cavalier_ were nearly over- only a couple of weeks left before performances began.  It was a comedy- and a pretty good one, I thought, although the playwright told everyone it was supposed to be a “biting examination of the modern relationship seen through the lens of the past” or some such pretentious BS.  Tom played a successful novelist who gets hit on the head and wakes up believing he is the character from his in-progress novel, a brash, romantic French chevalier, caught up in 18th century court intrigues.  Serena played the love interest, his doctor who he is convinced is being forced to marry for political advantage, much to the annoyance of his wife.  Tom was brilliant in rehearsals, throwing himself completely into the role of the dashing, witty Frenchman.  He would break hearts for sure.

After our little coffee outing, I had lain low for a few days.  Kept to my office, stayed away from backstage and the costume and prop rooms.  I didn’t want to seem like I was stalking the guy.  Tom knew I was a big fan and I worried that he’d freak out about my sanity if I was around all the time.  But I couldn’t stay away long.  He was like a siren song, constantly pulling at me.  Knowing he was in the building, so close, knowing that I could walk down the hall and hear his ebullient laugh at any time, it was impossible to resist.

The first time I had slipped into a seat in the back of the theater, I was surprised to see his eyes land on me immediately.  I thought I had been pretty sneaky, especially with the house lights dimmed as they were.  But he graced me with a huge grin and I couldn’t help but grin back.  During a break, he had run-  _run_!- up the aisle full tilt and slipped into the seat kitty-corner behind me.  He leaned over the back of the one next to me, long arms draped over the seatback and hands clasped loosely together.

"Enjoying the show?" he asked casually, as if he hadn’t just bolted up the carpet to sit by me.  He turned his head to look at me, shadows hiding most of his face.  His bicep brushed against my shoulder and his scent filled my nose, crisp and clean and a touch of… sage?

"Yeah.  Looks like a fun production."  I was torn between leaning into him and scooting away.  I stared at the empty stage and did neither.

"It’s really nice to do something lighthearted.  I’ve done so many serious roles lately- and I love them- but they’re exhausting.  I barely left my house during Coriolanus, you know?"

"Oh yeah, I bet.  That was a demanding role and you were just… fucking  _amazing_.  So raw and powerful and-“  I snapped my jaw shut abruptly, just before the words  _predatory_ and  _sex in a leather jerkin_  slipped out. 

"And what?"

_Shit._   Luckily I had plenty of other things to say about Coriolanus that didn’t indicate that I’d used Caius Martius to bang myself silly more times than I could count.  “You made him very understandable, sympathetic.  The emotions- god, I cry every time I watch it.”

He chuckled, so close to my ear, and swayed so that his arm nudged my shoulder.  “And how often do you watch it?”

I snorted at his eager tone- like a kid fishing for compliments- trying to hide what his proximity was doing to me behind derision.  Luckily, he didn’t press for more of an answer.

"So, do you know a good place for sushi?"

"Sure, I love sushi, let’s see…"  I drummed my fingers on my leg as I thought.  Which restaurant should I send him to?  Price probably wasn’t an issue for him… who had the best calamari…  I hadn’t come up with an answer when he spoke again.

"Oh excellent.  Let’s go to your favorite place after rehearsal then.  We’re wrapping around four-thirty."

I gaped at him, which was becoming an alarming pattern when he was around.  Was he… inviting me along?  He grinned at me in the dark, nudged my shoulder again and with a conspiratory whisper of “Meet you in the lobby,” stood up and walked back to the stage. 

And thus began our friendship.

It started out slowly.  I’d watch him rehearse.  Sometimes we’d have coffee or tea in my office.  We walked down a few blocks and strolled Pike’s Place Market; we watched the flying fish, visited the first Starbucks, stopped by a silly hat shop.  I laughed until I cried seeing him in a chicken hat and he couldn’t stop snickering when I tried on a bug-eyed goat.

We clicked as if we’d known each other for years- we were casual and relaxed with each other in a way that’s so rare, I’d only experienced it once before.  He loved to talk, about anything and everything, and his enthusiastic, friendly nature put me further at ease.  We had more than a few shared interests, although I teased him about tennis being nothing more than giant boring ping-pong and he hilariously raked me over the coals about my dislike of Romeo and Juliet.  I was in tears, I was laughing so hard.  

Soon, if he wasn’t rehearsing or spending time with castmates, he was with me.  I’d even invited him over to my apartment for a movie night.  My cat loved him, curling up on his lap as soon as he sat down and glaring at me with baleful golden eyes any time I came close.  I couldn’t blame her.  If I was in his lap, I wouldn’t have let anyone else come close either.

He was a very touchy, physical guy, I found out.  Lots of hugs.  Lots of little touches on my hands or shoulders or back.  And they drove me crazy.  I wanted them- every time I saw him, I counted the moments until he wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked or tapped my fingers on the table at coffee or once he had even brushed hair out of my face when my hands were full.  These touches never failed to make me ache with longing, both physically and mentally. 

I had been infatuated with Tom before I had ever met him, watching interview footage and staring at his pictures.  Now, I was entirely in love.  Head over heels in love with his stupid puns.  His enthusiasm for all the little things in life.  His eyes and hands.  His ability to quote Shakespeare at the drop of a hat.  His sweet tooth.  I was utterly in love with the hot British actor and the tall dorky beanpole. 

In love with a man who had  _kidnapped_ my coffee.   _And  you know that there will never be anything more than friendship between us,_ I reminded myself.   I knocked on the door to his dressing room.  The door opened a crack and his bright eyes peered out suspiciously.

"No cops?  Good."  He stepped back to let me in the room, gesturing me inside.  I glanced at his black sweatpants, then quickly away to the safer territory of his chest.  He was wearing the Seahawks t-shirt I had given him- there was only so much a girl could take of her unrequited love walking around in threadbare shirts before she started adding to his wardrobe.  The dark blue looked stunning on him and made his eyes look like brilliant fucking sapphires, especially when he smiled.  Next time, I swore, I was going to get him a neon lime green Sounders shirt, for my own sanity.

"Here’s your muffin."  I held up a lemon poppyseed muffin, cheery yellow and only slightly squashed from its trip to work in my backpack. 

"Where’s my forty thou?" he growled, playing the part of a classic kidnapper with all his impressive ability.

I squirmed, hoping it looked like I was playing my part and not because that growl had vibrated all the way down my spine to nestle between my legs.  “Uh… I couldn’t get it on such short notice…”

"Oh, that’s a shame,” he cooed.  He took a big gulp of my coffee, keeping his eyes on me as best as he could.  “This coffee is so delicious-"

Enough was enough.  “Hiddleston!  You give that back!”  I lunged for the cup, but he easily held it up out of my reach, grinning like a fool while I grasped at the air.

I sulked, retreating to the couch against the far wall and crossing my arms over my chest.  He laughed and sat on the coffee table in front of it, legs spread wide.  He handed me the cup, still chuckling.

"I’m  _very_  sorry for drinking your coffee,” he said with faked sincerity.  “But you did forget half the ransom…”

I stuck my tongue out at him, clutching the cup close to me.  “Next time you steal my coffee, Hiddles, I’m going to break your kneecaps.”  I glared with all the menace I could muster in the face of his gaffaw.

When he finished laughing at me and my pout, he laid his hand on my knee, serious.  My leg tensed.  “I haven’t seen you much lately.  Is everything alright, darling?”

I was beginning to hate it when he called me “darling.”  It made my heart leap every time he said it, as if this time he would mean it as if I was actually  _his_  darling, not just a casual term he used with everyone.  “Well, you’re doing a lot of scenes with Serena this week, so…”  I gestured vaguely. 

We hadn’t really talked about his relationship with Serena.  I was reluctant to bring it up and he hadn’t volunteered much.  He didn’t seem happy with her.  Any time I saw them together, he looked miserable, subtly flinching away from her touch or wincing when she called him Tommy.  I wasn’t sure if I was a close enough friend to pry into that aspect of his life.  Honestly, I wasn’t sure I  _wanted_  to know, if he chose to tell me.  I didn’t like her for my own reasons, of course.  I told myself that my reasons had nothing to do with the idea that if she were out of the picture, Tom would be single. 

No, it was because- in addition to getting me fired- she was the kind of person who treated service staff like dirt.  My friend Mina in costuming had told me that Serena had thrown multiple hissyfits during fittings.  No one seemed to have a good opinion of her but the director, the producer, and her castmates.  Whenever she was around, I tried to stay away from Tom.  I didn’t want her harping on him because of his friendship with me.  And… what if she really got jealous?  What if she demanded he stop hanging out with me?  I couldn’t risk that.  I needed to see him, needed to be near him, even if I knew I could never love him the way I wished I could.

"Oh, Serena."  He leaned back away from me, withdrawing his hand.  I immediately missed its warmth.  "You don’t have to be scared of her."

I sat up straight, bristling.  “I am not  _scared_  of her!”  I sank back into the couch, rubbing my free hand nervously on the top of my thigh.  Tom’s eyes dropped to my lap, following the motion.  He licked his lips before looking back at my face.  I felt warm and a little fluttery and I indulged in the feeling for an instant before returning to reality.

"I’m  _not_ ,” I continued defensively.  “It’s just… I don’t… She’s very… blaarrr!”  My attempted sentence devolved into a quiet, incoherent noise of frustration.  How could I talk about this without entering into dangerous territory?

"Erin?" Tom asked, tilting his head.  "Hey, you can tell me what’s up," he said gently.  "I’d hate for something I’m doing to upset you."

I laughed a little at that, under my breath.  His relationship was definitely upsetting me, but not for any reason I could tell him.  I took a steadying breath, looking down at my coffee.  “She just doesn’t seem like your type.  She… well, she’s not very polite to people and I know you hate being rude to service staff…”  With a sigh, I knew I had to ask.  This friendship was a sham if we couldn’t talk about it.  “Why are you with her, Tom?”

"With her?  Is that what you- We’re not- I mean, she thinks we’re more… but I don’t want-"

He was  _babbling_.  I couldn’t believe it.  Tom Hiddleston, babbling.  I looked up at him as he blew out his lips, and stuttered a few more words before trailing off completely, glancing off to the side instead of meeting my eyes.

He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.  A few curls stuck up when he was done.  He looked so… vulnerable.  I couldn’t help but smile a little and I reached out to smooth them down before I could stop myself.  His eyes widened slightly and I snatched my hand back as if burned.  “It’s complicated,” he muttered, looking down.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me, it’s cool,” I said casually, twisting my fingers together.  His hair had been soft and a little slick with product.  I could still feel it on my skin and clasped my hands tighter to keep from doing it again.

"No… I want to tell you."  His expression was unreadable.  My heart squeezed at the unexplained  softness in his eyes.

He had been invited to a party thrown by Max, the producer of The Cavalier.  Jordan, his friend the playwright, had not-so-subtly pushed Tom and Serena together throughout the night.  Tom hadn’t dated anyone in a long time (he avoided any details about that, which only increased my curiosity) and he was lonely.  Jordan swore that Tom and Serena would be perfect together.  By the end of the night, they had chatted and hit it off well enough that he asked to see her again.

"She was sweet, and definitely hot.  Very into me, which was nice…"  He trailed off with another unreadable look.  "Um, we went on a few casual dates, but it just wasn’t clicking for me.  But Serena, she thought it was going great.  A fan snapped that picture of us together and Jordan went through the roof.  ‘Think of the publicity!’ he would say."  Tom imitated Jordan’s excited, deep voice perfectly.  "The leads in my play, actually in love with each other!"  Tom shook his head.  "Serena was- is- more than willing to pin her star to mine.  She knows being associated with me will increase her fame.  By the time we arrived in Seattle, I knew we weren’t going to work.  There were enough little incidents, like the one with you…"  He coughed.  "I just can’t be with someone so disrespectful and negative, you’re right about that."

"So why haven’t you broken up with her?" I asked in a small voice.

"I didn’t think we were serious, thought we were still in that casual phase.  Serena… she was ready to pick out china.  And Jordan is so excited, he’s told fucking everyone who will listen about his two lovebirds."  Tom’s face twisted up in annoyance.  "And to add to that, we did some interviews- pieces that won’t come out until the play starts- together.  And no matter what I said before or during, Serena made sure the interviewer knew we were  _together_.  If we break up before those are published, but the articles say we’re together when they’re published…”

"Bad publicity."  I nodded, not entirely sure that was worth pretending to date someone you didn’t like.  But it was his life and his career.

Tom looked at me, earnest, licking his lips.  “So, you understand?”

"Sure, I understand," I assured him, although I didn’t really.  Couldn’t Luke get changes made to the articles before they published?  Was it necessary for Tom to keep pretending like this?  For that matter, I wasn’t sure I understood why someone so principled was willing to go through all this in the first place.  Tom seemed too mature for these kinds of shenanigans.  Did he not want to hurt Serena or disappoint Jordan?

Tom’s smile was brilliant, making his eyes look like damn sapphires again.   _Why can’t you love me too?_  I thought suddenly with a sharp stabbing pain.  Just looking at that dazzling smile, his eyes bright, and happiness suffusing his whole body- he practically thrummed, his leg bouncing and and his hips shifting and his hands moving every which way.  I wanted him to want me too, to wrap me in those long arms and whisper,  _I love you._ I wanted to be the one who put that light in his eyes.  I wanted-  _more than anything_ \- in that moment for those hands to land on either side of my face, tilting my lips up to his to kiss, long and deep and sweet.

"So, we’re still on for another movie night tomorrow?"

I wrenched my attention back to him, dragging my eyes away from his mouth.  “Oh yeah, totally.  You bring the beer, I’ve got the rest.”   _Fucking hell, this man will be the death of me._

*****

I was curled up on the left side of the couch, huddled in a fleece blanket.  Tom was on the other end, taking up more space than he should with one leg folded up on the couch, foot nearly touching the thigh of the leg stretched out in front of him.  Eowin, my cat, was happily ensconced against his crotch.  The remnants of my beef stew with biscuits- a cheap, tasty, and thoroughly unromantic dinner option- littered the coffee table.  I’d already indulged in one of the beers Tom had brought over and was feeling nicely warm and cozy while we watched our first movie.

Except my shoulder blade itched fiercely.  I wiggled, trying to rub the spot on the back of the couch.  When that didn’t work, I tried to surreptitiously grind my back into the wooden frame under the padding.  It just wasn’t the right friction.

“Erin, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I yelped, surprised.  I had been absorbed in trying to get that itch and had thought I was hiding it pretty well.  “My back itches, that’s all.”

“Why didn’t you say so instead of flopping around like a dying fish?  Come here.”

"Oh, no, it’s fine, Tom…"

When I didn’t move, Tom slid across the cushions, dislodging a sleepy Eowin and reaching out with his long arms to pull me closer.  He turned me so my back was to him and brushed my hair to one side over my shoulder.  I tried to stop the shiver when his fingertips fluttered over the nape of my neck, but there was no suppressing the goosebumps that rushed down my arms in a tingling wave.

“Where does it itch?”

“Uh… right shoulder blade, towards the bottom,” I whispered.  My throat was tight with anticipation.  I wanted him to touch me so badly, but at the same time I didn’t- if I couldn’t have all of him, part of me didn’t want him at all.  He was my friend, a precious and wonderful friend that I never expected to find.  I was beyond grateful to have the chance to know him like this, I told myself.  I didn’t need more.  Except that I did.  I needed his hands and his lips and whispered endearments and his hips slamming between my legs…

His nails dug into my back where’d I’d suggested and it felt  _incredible_.  I arched into his touch like a cat, twisting a little this way and that to change the angle.  I practically purred when he increased the pressure; I couldn’t help it.  I was a sucker for a back scratch from anyone and Tom was marvelous at it.  My eyes rolled closed, my head tipped forward and my spine bowed towards him. 

The skin under my shirt felt deliciously hot and raw from his nails.  I was relaxed and dreamy, as if he’d given me an hour massage instead of a two minute back scratch.  His fingernails roamed my back, scratching every inch while I groaned, only slightly embarrassed but unable to stop. 

“I should have recorded that.  I’ve never heard anything so pornographic,” Tom chuckled softly and the couch dipped as he shifted behind me.

My face flamed red.  I clenched my hands into fists to keep from burying my face in them, wishing I had a pillow to smack him with.  “Shut up, Hiddleston,” I growled.  “I like backscratches.  Besides, I’m sure you’ve heard worse- or better, I suppose.”

He didn’t say anything to that.  I wasn’t prepared when he pulled me back against him, settling me with my back to his chest, my shoulder tucked under his arm.  I tensed.  His legs were stretched out in front of him and mine were still on the couch, folded up so that my feet slid into the gap between the armrest and the cushion.  My breath caught in my chest, aching.  I should move.  I should get up- get something, anything, from the kitchen.  I couldn’t stay like this.  But I did.

His fingers began tracing random patterns on my forearm as he watched the movie.  Light, swirling touches over and over.  I bit my lip, suppressing a whine.  I loved that kind of touch; casual, sensual, loving.  My eyes slowly unfocused, staring unseeing at the TV.  I wanted to let them drift shut, tilt my head back against his shoulder, and melt completely into him.  As long as I kept my eyes open, I wouldn’t give in.  As long as I kept them open, I wouldn’t do something stupid.  I tried to memorize every feeling, every sensation, to keep for later.

Every bit of me felt hypersensitive.  I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, his breath against my hair, the tension in his thigh behind my back.  Was that a slight tremble in his fingers?  I tried not to move, to keep my breathing steady even though I wanted to pant and turn to claim his mouth with mine.  I knew this was just a nice cuddle with an overly-affectionate friend.  That he probably wasn’t even aware of what his fingers were doing.  But it was the most erotic moment of my life and I never wanted it to end.  I wanted to float in this cocoon of warm bodies and gentle touches forever.

“Do you want to watch another?”

I jumped at the low, rough voice in my ear.  I had drifted into a trance-like state while he touched me, all unknowing what he was doing to me, and now I could see that the credits had started rolling.  I didn’t even remember the last part of the movie.  Trance broken, I bolted upright, nearly clocking Tom in the nose with my head. 

“Oh!  Um, yeah, let me just… um, I’ll just go to the bathroom and then get dessert and we’ll put on a new one, k?  Pick one while I’m gone.”  My words practically fell over each other I was talking so fast and attempting to stay casual.  I hurried off the couch and into the bathroom.

The bright glare of the halogens yanked me fully back to reality.  I was more aroused than I’d been in ages, slick and aching for the friction that would send me over the edge.  I was desperately tempted to shove my hand down my pants- it wouldn’t take more than a few strokes.  But I didn’t.  Not with Tom in the other room, waiting for me to come back.  And anyway it wasn’t my fingers I wanted.

I ran cold water in the sink and splashed it on my face.  God, what a mess.  I wanted him so much that even my  _teeth_  hurt with the wanting.  Why couldn’t I be happy with what I had?  I was  _honored_ , and still quite surprised, to be counted among his friends.

I had asked Tom once, after we’d both had a few glasses of wine, why he had sought me out after our coffee “date.”  There were plenty of other people for him to spend time with, including his fellow cast members.  I don’t know what I was expecting him to say- maybe that I’d dazzled him with my wit or that I’d been irresistibly mysterious- but it wasn’t what he said.

"I knew you already liked me," he had said sheepishly.  "I didn’t have to start from the square one; you’re a fan, so I could be myself and I knew you’d be happy with that.  I didn’t have to do that awkward period, where you’re trying to figure out how much you can reveal to the other person."

Looking at myself in the mirror now, I scowled.  “You’re being a fucking idiot.  Don’t ruin a good thing, dammit.  He’s your friend.  Keep it in your pants.”  I dried my face a bit more roughly than necessary and stepped out of the bathroom.

Tom was opening another bottle of beer when I got to the kitchen.

I grinned at him, all friendly and innocent despite my wet panties.  “I promised you the chocolatiest chocolate ice cream ever, didn’t I?”  I opened the freezer and pulled out the container with a flourish.  “Let me introduce you to Mukilteo Mud.”

Tom goggled at me for a second, then shook his head.  “You have the oddest names here, even for the States.”

"What, you don’t like ‘Tukwila’?" I giggled while I wrestled open the lid and searched for my ice cream scoop.  "Or ‘Stillaguamish’ or ‘Puyallup’?"

"How do you even manage to pronounce those, let alone spell them?"

"This from the Shakespeare expert."  I handed him a bowl of ice cream and dished out some for myself.

"Puyallup sounds like a bad euphemism for sex."  He leered at me and drawled in an American accent, “Hey, baby, wanna puyallup?”  He gave me an exaggerated wink.

“Ha ha.”  I rolled my eyes.   _Yes, yes I do!  And any number of other filthy things._  “Not with that line.”

He thought for a moment, setting down his bowl.  He looked me up and down, with careful deliberation.  I turned back to the tub of ice cream, putting the lid back on to cover the flush in my cheeks.  He might be joking, but that look was still deadly. 

“How about…”  His voice dropped, low and sexy, as he tilted his head a little and looked at me sidelong.  His eyes sparkled and he lowered an eyebrow to go with a suave smirk.  “I’m looking for a treasure.  Can I look around your chest?”

I swallowed hard, my knees weak at just how fucking sexy he looked delivering such a terrible line.  And from the way his eyes were glued to my chest now.  “Strike two.  You’ve got to up your game, Hiddleston,” I teased to cover my reaction.  If my voice was a little higher and breathier than normal, I hoped he wouldn’t notice.  I had to get him off this topic before  I lost my mind.  “So, what movie is up next?  Are we MST3K-ing it or is it an actual watcher?”

“It’s  _Manos: Hands of Fate_ ; you tell me.”

“Oh perfect.  Let’s get to it- Manos won’t make fun of himself.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the thing. I want to finish this story the way it should be finished. But I can’t. This story has been lurking over me and weighing me down for years, to the point that it has taken all the fun out of writing. It’s been riddled with problems for me since the beginning, problems I keep tripping over. I just have to let it go so that I can move on. I am very very sorry.
> 
> The first part of this chapter is what I have written for 5. At the end, I’ve included my outline and notes for the rest of the story. I wish I could finish this in prose, but at least you’ll know how it ends, and that’s as good a solution that I can find.

I folded my arms on the counter and dropped my head into them.  “I can’t do it anymore, Jess!”

“Aw, poor thing.  Your celebrity BFF not everything you wanted?”

I raised my head up just enough to glare at her smiling over her coffee cup.  “Did I _tell_ you about last night?”

“Yeah, you did.  Guitar, Loki impression, hugs- _poor_ you.” 

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.  I am _dying_ here.  I can’t take the constant touching and being adorable and being so goddamn gorgeous all the time!”  I slammed my head back down.  “I want to kiss him.  I want to just take his damn perfect face and lick him all over.”

“Lick him?” Jess cackled.  “ _Lick his face_?  Isn’t that a bit north of where you’re supposed to be licking him?”

“I can’t lick him at all,” I grumbled.  “That’s the problem.  It physically hurts, wanting him so much.”

My phone chimed next to me.  I swiped in my pattern as I picked it up.

_Hey you.  Where are you today?_

_\- Called in sick_

_So sorry! :-( Can I bring you something?  I can hit that pho place during lunch._

_\- I’m patient zero over here, better stay far away.  I promise you’ll be the first brains I eat, though_

“The man himself?”  Jess peered over the island at my screen.  “You lied?”

“I just… I needed some time to myself today.”  I shrugged.

“Pining does take a lot of energy.  Okay, in all seriousness, hon…”  She looked into my cup and poured me more coffee.  “What’s your plan?  Rehearsals go until, what, um-”

“Another week.”

“Sure, another week.  Then it’s got a four week preview run, maybe it’ll go to New York after that.”  Jess pushed the cream towards me.  “What then?  I mean, do you really think this friendship is going to last once he leaves?”

I lifted my mug for a long, stalling swallow.  My chest constricted and my brain shied violently away from the reality of Jess’ timeline.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know.”  My eyes swam with unexpected tears.  “He’s really, really great, Jess.  He nice and funny and… and just full of life.”  I sniffled through a smile.  “He loves coffee almost as much as I do.  I don’t want it to end, ever.  But who knows if he feels that way too?  Platonically, obviously.”

“You're his crazy fangirl, shouldn't you know?  What kind of stalker are you?”

“I think?  I mean, most of his friends are scattered all over the world, so he must be okay with the virtual friend thing.  But… with me?  I don’t know if I’m the remembering kind of friend or the ‘convenient on location’ kind…”

“Tough question.  Which do you _want_ to be?”

I dropped my head to the counter again, ignoring the new chirp from my phone.  “Fuck if I know.”

*****

_Two games.  Two!_

I scowled at the the tiles in front of me. 

_These letters are_ useless _._

Tom’s chuckle was the last thing I needed to hear as I tried to remember how to spell.  I’d already lost two games- badly.  I had no illusions about beating him this time either, but I was doing my best to not get my ass completely kicked.  If only I didn’t have so many damn consonants.

“Careful, your face might freeze that way.”

I turned my glare to the lanky man sprawled on the floor.  He propped his head up on one hand, the other rubbing his lips.  He had dropped his gaze back to the board between us, ignoring any retort I had.  I took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne a soothing distraction.  His legs looked so long with him on his side like this, his bare feet occasionally wiggling as he thought.  Eowen was curled up by his stomach, purring when he finished his turn and began to pet her again.

Tom’s phone chirped from the coffee table behind him.  “Gotta check that, just a sec.”  He twisted around and started tapping on his screen.

I scooted quietly to the side, craning my neck to see his letters.  _Well, fuck._   I sat back down with a whump.

“What did you play?” Tom asked, turning back to the game.  “Hey!  Give that back.”

“What?”  I blinked at him.

“My ‘A.’  Give it back.”  He held out his hand, flexing his fingers.

“I don’t have anything.”  My eyes were wide and innocent, but I could feel the start of a burning in my cheeks and I pressed my lips together against a smile.

“It is against the rules to pillage another player’s letters,” Tom intoned.

Then he lunged across the board and I scrambled back across the floor with a shriek.

“I don't have it!  Maybe Eowen ate it!” I giggled as I held up my arms as a shield.

He caught my ankle and pulled.  I kicked at him with my free leg but he only caught that one too, using them to draw me closer despite my squirming. I glared up at him as he straddled my thighs, my heart thumping in my chest from more than just play-adrenaline.

“Tom!”  I squealed as his long fingers found my ribs and began a merciless tickle attack.  I thrashed in his grip, batting at his hands and head, bucking and twisting my hips, anything to get him to quit.  “St-st… st-stop!”

This time he grabbed my wrists as my arms flailed around in a useless attempt to hit him.  He pinned them down by my ears, leaning down to stare into my eyes.

Both of us were breathing hard.  He glanced down, then back up at my face.  With an icy clarity, I realized the position we were in, the way a deep breath would touch my breasts to his chest.  I felt his thighs on mine, hard as stone.  His fingers around my wrists, firm and warm.  I saw his tongue flick out over his lips and I echoed the motion by reflex.  He was so close.  So close.  His weight pressing me to the floor, the smell of his cologne surrounding me, his face all I could see.

“There's my piece.”  He plucked the tile from my limp hand and sat back up with a smug grin.

I took a shaky, and hopefully quiet, breath as he crawled back to his side of the board.  I _ached_. My skin longed for his, my muscles cried out for his solid weight, even the air in my lungs wanted to say his name.  He was fixing the tiles on the board that had gone askew, his A safely back in place on his rack. 

_I’m going to lose._

*****

A few days later, Tom was back in my apartment, reading on my couch.  I had hidden the Scrabble box and I was staying as far out of his reach as I could get away with.

Tom set his book down on his lap.  “What is that beeping?”

I bit my lip as the high chirp faded.  “Noticed that, did you?”  With a grimace, I said, “The smoke alarm needs new batteries.”

“Why haven’t you done it then?”

I didn’t answer.  Instead I suddenly found the dishes on the coffee table unacceptable and carried them into the kitchen.  My plan was foiled, though, as Tom followed me, book forgotten on the couch.

“Erin?”

I turned on the sink, rinsing the cups I had brought in.  I mumbled into the stainless tub, “I hate changing those batteries.  I freak out that I’ll make it go off and I won’t be able to turn it off.”

I didn’t need Tom’s soft chuckle to know that he’d heard me despite my best efforts.  “What do you normally do, then?”

“Move,” I quipped.

The laugh was louder now.  “Where are your batteries?”

I turned to him, smiling.  “You’re my hero.”

“Oh no, darling, you’re the one who’s going to change it, I’m just going to watch.”

My expression fell into a scowl.  “You’re cruel.” 

But I couldn’t say no to him when he was grinning at me like that, his tongue caught between his teeth, his cheeks just a bit pink. That smile made my heart flutter in the worst way.  I dug out a battery that I was pretty sure was still good and dragged out my step stool from the hall closet.

“So cruel,” I repeated, unfolding the steps.  “To mock my fear for your own entertainment.”

He held out his hand to me, affecting a chivalrous air.  “May I help you up, my lady?”

“Yeah, we’ll see who’s laughing when this thing starts blaring and there’s no shutting it off.”  I jumped a little at the top when the alarm beeped again.  “Fucking bastard,” I mumbled.

“Me, or the detector?” Tom was enjoying this _way_ too much.

_I’ve got the perfect angle to knee your pretty face from here, so just keep it up, Chuckles._

“You look just like Juliet up there.”

I snorted.  “Yeah, sure, if Nurse ran on a 9-volt and Romeo had a thing for yoga pants.”  The cover was off now and I flinched as I gingerly removed the old battery.  The damn thing beeped again, jolting my heartrate up a dozen beats per minute.  “It’s going to go off.”  I was sure of it.

“It's not, Juliet.”  He was looking up at me and maybe it was the angle, or the lighting, or my unfounded fear upping my adrenaline, but his eyes looked amazing.  Clear and bright and blue.  His cheekbones seemed even more pronounced than usual, with a dusting of late-day scruff on his chin and jaw.

I hesitated, fingering the battery.  I aligned it in the case, but froze.  I _knew_ it was stupid, but my fingers just wouldn’t obey me, my shoulders hunching in anticipation of the loud screech I was sure was coming.

“Come on.  Just push it in-”

“That's what she said.”

I screwed my eyes shut and held my breath, keenly aware of how silly I was acting.  The battery clicked in place.

Nothing happened.

I exhaled a shaky sigh.  My legs were trembling a bit from the relief, which seemed like an overreaction, but I couldn’t help it.  I beamed down at Tom, giddy with idiotic pride, as I moved one foot to the lower step.

Tom’s hands closed around my hips, lifting me completely off the step stool.  My hands automatically found his broad shoulders for balance.  We froze there for a long moment- my feet dangling off the floor, nothing but his grip keeping me in place.  I wanted to flex my fingers, dig them into the soft cotton of his shirt.  But I couldn’t move, staring into his eyes, impossibly blue with laugh lines showing at the corner when his lips curled into a small smile.  My heart stopped in my chest when he pulled me closer, sliding me down his body- slowly, inch by inch, until my toes touched the floor.

His eyes never left mine, his right eyebrow quirked just slightly.  The air was too thick, too heavy to breathe, and I was about to step back before he could see the raw ache in my own eyes.

His hand slid up my spine, long fingers wrapping around the back of my neck.  I stared at his mouth, his tongue flicking over his lips as pressure from his grip urged me closer.  It was a sweet, chaste brush, barely touching.  Then his lips parted with a slow exhale and pressed to mine- warm, soft, gentle.

My hands on his shoulders crept up to tangle in his silky hair.  He made a small noise in the back of his throat, one that made my knees weak.  He pulled me closer while bending me back, devouring my mouth while I clung to him for balance.  All I could hear was his heavy breathing, the sound of him sucking on my lower lip, his grunt when I did the same to him.

_Oh god, is this really happening?_

Just as the thought crossed my mind, Tom retreated.  His eyes were closed, his mouth not quite.  I swayed a little, unprepared to hold my own weight yet.  His hands were still on me, mine on him, but there was space between us now, enough to catch my breath.  But I couldn’t- if I did, I was sure that the moment would shatter entirely, scattering glittering shards of my heart all over the carpet.

Tom moved first, opening his eyes.  He breathed his _ehehe_ chuckle, his cheeks pink.  Reality crashed back down on me, an implosion in my chest sucking all the color from the world.  I knew what was coming:  _“I got carried away.”  “So sorry, didn't mean that.”_ Maybe he'd laugh it off with an awkward joke- _“There you go, Juliet, now run off to get some poison from the apothecary…”_

“I’m sorry-”

My body curled inwards from the vacuum in my ribcage, the words physically painful.  I tried to rally, tried to shrug it off and blink back the tears suddenly in my eyes.  I just needed to get him out, get away from him, I just needed to hold it together long enough to cry into my pillow for the rest of the night.

But he was still talking, his palm coming to cup my cheek, his thumb rubbing gently under my eye.  “-I just can’t take it any longer.  I can't spend all evening with you and then just… leave.  Again.  Jesus, you look good tonight and I can't-”

His mouth descended on mine again, this time demanding, claiming.  Strong hands framed my face, tilted me this way and that.  His nose rubbed at mine before he opened his mouth, swallowing my gasp, the kiss surging wildly between us.  The sweet sandpaper rasp of his stubble burned my lips, soothed almost immediately by the wet heat of his tongue.  I was weightless, melted against his hard chest, my fingers tugging weakly at his hair. 

My head spun, two voices vying for attention above the flurry of sensation- the fan who never expected to meet her crush and the girl who saw one of her best friends instead of a celebrity.

_Oh my god, Tom Hiddleston is sucking on my neck._

_Oh my god,_ Tom _is sucking on my neck._

_Oh my god, Tom Hiddleston’s hands are inside my shirt._

_Oh my god,_ Tom’s _hands are in my shirt._

And they were warm and soft, sliding up and down my spine.  Long fingers splayed out to feel every bit of skin, pulling me closer to him.  His grip was firm, insistent, holding me still so that he could nip and lick at my neck.  My knees were water, barely supporting me, the burning wet mouth on my shoulder setting my body on fire.

And then a smaller, third voice piped up, trying to remember when I had last shaved and how far up had I gone- _Lord, I hope the fangirl speculation that he wouldn’t care about that stuff is true…_

“Tom-” I gasped, leaning back from him, trying to gain some space.  “Stop-”

He pulled reluctantly away, licking his lips as his gaze bounced from my face to my breasts and back.  His eyes were hazy, his hands frozen in place.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“No, no- don’t stop, I mean, yes, stop for a second, but not-” I shook my head, forcing my brain to function.  “I just… Is this really…”

“Yes, this is really,” he said, a smile twitching across his face as he tried to focus on my words.

I shifted my weight to my other foot and he shuddered, his fingers digging into my back. 

“God, if you want me to pay attention, don’t do that again.”

I couldn’t help but grin at him, drunk on unexpected confidence.  “What, this?”  I moved again, brushing my thigh against the sizable bulge in his pants, thrilling at his deep groan.  “Tom-”

“Erin.”  He grabbed my hips, pulling me back with him through the room until he bumped against the couch, his mouth roaming over my neck.

“I’m impressed that you got here without looking or tripping,” I said, breathless.

“I assumed you’d tell me if I was going to run into anything.”  He swallowed my squeak of surprise as he dropped to the seat, yanking me down into his lap.  “No, move your leg over… watch your knee… perfect,” he said as I straddled him

Deep, sweeping, intoxicating kisses, his hands in my hair, mine running up the tight muscles of his back.  I broke away to help myself to his neck, running my tongue up the tendons.  How many times had I stared at his slim neck, longing to do exactly this?  His head tipped back on his neck, his eyes closed and his mouth open

I giggled into his skin when his palms caressed my ass.  He pulled me closer, both of us gasping at the new pressure, perfect and unsatisfying.  I shook in his arms as he moved me against him, urging me up and down. 

“Fuck,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to his.

“Is that a request?” he asked with a small laugh.

_Oh yes fuck yes- but- oh god-_  “Yes-”  I sat up awkwardly.  “But I don’t, um, I don’t have any…”

“Hold on.”  Tom deposited me to the side as he shimmied out from under me.  He bent over to rummage around in his jacket, forgotten on the floor.

_I wonder if I can take a picture of his ass without him noticing…_

He stood up, triumphantly holding up his wallet.  Flipping it open, he fished out a silver and blue square.

I couldn't help but giggle, just a little.  "In your wallet, Tom?  Really?"  My grin widened when his cheeks flushed pink.  "Are you eighteen?"

"Where would you suggest I keep one?"

"How long has that been in there anyway?” I asked, moving to sit up on my knees.

Now his face was entirely pink and he was studiously looking at my lamp.  Of course, that made me all the more curious.

“Tom…”

He rubbed his neck, massaging the skin there slowly which only increased his flush, starting to creep down his neck.  “I put it in there… after we had dinner that first time,” he muttered.  “Okay?”

I exhaled in a rush, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“No, Erin, I didn’t… I didn’t _expect_ anything, this isn’t a friendzone thing, but, I just…””  His hands twisted together, nearly crushing the condom packet.  “I couldn’t get you out of my head after that night.”

My stomach was a mass of butterflies, watching him fidget and bite his lip, adorably earnest- and powerfully sexy because of it.  “Tom.”  I swallowed.  “Do you want to come back to my bedroom?”

His face was indescribably beautiful and the fact that I had put that look on his face- hopeful, bashful, eager- it had me walking on air as I led him back to my room.  He’d been in there before, poking fun at my stuffed animal collection and my well-worn comforter, perusing through my bookshelves and photos.

But this time, I hesitated at the light switch, my euphoria screeching to a halt. 

_Jesus, this is Tom Hiddleston, hottest man on Earth- what am I even doing?_

_This is everything I’ve ever wanted.  But..._

_Maybe in the dark-_

Tom leaned around me and flipped the switch on, his other hand squeezing my ass and pushing me further into the room.  My stomach twisted in uncertainty and I glanced over my shoulder at him, to see his gentle, comforting expression.

“I’d like to have the light on, if that’s alright with you, love,” he murmured.  “I've been salivating over your legs in these pants all night.”  His palm skimmed over my hip, caressed my inner thigh.  “Let me see you while I take them off you, please.”

I tilted my head to hide the sudden weightless feeling behind my navel.  “If you can read my mind, why didn’t you do it weeks ago?” I groused.

“I don’t think I need to be a mindreader to see that you’re nervous.”

“Nervous?”  I exhaled a shaky laugh.  “That's an understatement.”

“Erin.”  He turned me around in his arms, rocking me back and forth almost imperceptibly.  “We don’t have to do this, if it’s too fast-”

I indulged every repressed wish I’d had in the last month and let my head tip onto his chest.  He smelled so good- warm, mellow citrus, musk, and something indefinable, something just _him_. “Fast?” I snorted into his shirt.  “I’ve dreamed of this since I saw _Thor_ \- I just never thought it would ever happen.  You’re _Tom Hiddleston_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m just me.  Can’t I just be your Tom tonight?  Forget the actor part.”  His fingers combed through my hair- soothing, soft.

“You’re still enragingly gorgeous,” I mumbled.

“Enragingly?” he laughed.  “That, my dear, is not a word.”

The vibrations in his chest made me giggle, even more when he lifted me just enough to walk forward with my toes dragging on the ground.  “It is.  I’ll even use it in a sentence- ‘Tom is _enragingly_ good-looking for a golden retriever.’”

“That is not how words work.  You can’t just make one up like that.  And I am not at all enraging.”  He set me on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of me.  “Yes?”

“Yes,” I whispered, touching his cheek.  “But you are absolutely enraging.  Just look at your face.”

“Mm, what’s wrong with my face?”

“Well, for one thing-” I gasped as the face in question buried itself between my breasts, nuzzling even as his hands snuck of the back of my shirt to find the clasp of my bra.  “It’s too pretty.  Makes me want to punch it.”

He looked up at me, his eyes glittering with mischief.  “I can think of _much_ better things you can do with my face.”

“Tom!”

“You’re the one obsessed with my face, love.  You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”  He sat back on his heels with a grin.  “Would it make you feel better or worse if I got naked first?”

_Naked._

Everything below my ribcage seemed to squeeze all at once around the sudden ache inside me.  My mouth watered at just the suggestion.  Tom, naked.  In my bedroom.  Mine.  Finally.

“You first,” I managed in a hoarse squeak.

With a brief, sweet kiss, he stood up and rucked the bottom of his shirt out of his waistband.  I gulped at the flash of skin- somehow a teasing glimpse of the hair below his navel was more enticing than seeing it fully.  He grasped the hem and pulled the tee over his chest and head in one smooth motion.  Muscle moved under smooth, pale skin, dusted with freckles that begged to be traced.  I could see his ribs as he breathed, see the hitch of his abs as he slid his hand down to his hips.

He unbuckled his belt, pausing after popping the button of his fly.  He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and raised his right eyebrow in question.  I nodded, unable to stop myself from smiling back at him when he winked cheekily at me. 

He drew down his zipper and pushed jeans and boxers down his legs together.  He bent over, removing pants and socks from his ankles, then stood up straight for my examination.

He adjusted his posture and tilted his chin up while I looked him up and down.  And back again.  Long, lean, beautifully proportioned, his nipples flushed and hard under my gaze.  His narrow waist, the hollows of his Adonis belt.  Thick, muscular thighs.  His cock was standing proud against his stomach, the rosy smooth head just peeking from his foreskin, a bead of fluid rolling down the side as I watched.

“ _Oh._ ”  I blinked, taking one more long, careful look.  Memorizing this moment, this one full of unspoiled promise, of limitless potential.  “You’re enragingly perfect,” I managed, with a lopsided, forced smile.

Tom stepped closer and sank to his knees in front of me again.  “Infuriatingly.  That’s a real word,” he said, leaning into me so that I was forced to scoot back to keep him from landing on me.  “Is that the one you’re looking for?”

I wormed backwards further onto the bed, unable to look away as he crawled after me.  “No, what I’m feeling is definitely rage, not fury.”

He nuzzled my neck while his hands rucked up my shirt.  “Are you certain it’s rage?”

The shirt came off and I whimpered as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down my shoulder to my bared breasts.  “It might… it might not be entirely rage right now…”  I squeaked at the wet heat that enveloped my nipple, the soft pull of his sucking stealing my breath.

Fingers snuck under the waistband of my yoga pants.  “Let’s see if I can help you identify that feeling then,” he smiled up at me.

_Oh, my god..._

***

"Go back to sleep, darling, it's early yet."

"Then why are you getting up?" I asked around a yawn, peeling my face from the pillow and peering at the backlit figure in the bathroom doorway.  I could just make out that his hair was sticking up every which way and he was holding his pants.

"I need to go back to my hotel and change.  I can't go to the theater wearing the same thing I was yesterday."

I snorted, letting my head drop back to the pillow and closing my eyes.  "Tom, you own three outfits.  No one is going to notice.  No one."

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, Erin, give me a break.”

_Promise you’ll come back?_ I thought, but bit my lip to keep from saying it.

He paused, then I heard his footsteps coming closer.  His hand smoothed my hair back from my forehead and pulled the blanket up over my bare shoulder.  “I’ll bring back breakfast.”

“Okay…” I mumbled, reassured.  “Coffee too?”

“Coffee too.”

***

_[We’ve reached the end of the prose I’ve written.  I don’t want to leave anyone hanging, so here is the outline that I have for the rest of the story]_

 

They eat breakfast that morning, casually touching and joking, until Erin realises that it’s almost time for work.  She worries about what Serena or another coworker will think of their relationship.  They decide to keep things secret for now- after all, they’re always together anyway, no one needs to know that it’s gone beyond friends.

Eventually, they slip up.  A fan takes a photo of the couple kissing and tweets it.  Serena finds out and- pissed off- decides to throw gas on the fire. If she can't have Tom, she wants to ruin Erin's chance with him.  Serena leaks all kinds of information to gossip magazines.

Although she thought she could take it, Erin is crushed. She reads the comments and blog posts about her weight, her face, her education.  She is hurt by the level of vitriol towards her- even though as a fan, she had seen it happen to Tom's previous girlfriends. 

She tries not to look, but it's inevitable.

_i heard she dropped out of college- what's he doing with someone like that? he has a double first at cambridge!!!_

_| he needs to be with an actress, someone who can understand him. What does this bitch know about anything_

_|| We have a billion fics about him falling for a fan and now that he has, you're going to attack him for not dating a celeb?  Wtf?_

_||| she's not good enough for him!  Yuck she's so ugly too_

_He looks so sad. He knows he made a mistake_

| _she hacked his phone and is blackmailing him. That's the only way this makes sense_

|| _it's okay, Tom! Let her leak those nudes, we’ll love you anyway and then you can sue her fat ass instead of this “dating” shit_

 

Tom comes to her apartment and finds her in the dark, all her electronics turned off.  He tells her that she can’t pay attention to any of that stuff.  That what they have is just between them and they know the truth.

“Someone published my address! And my email!  Some of these people were my friends!  I never thought… I never thought they'd be so petty and dramatic over you being in a relationship…”

They fight- she doesn't know if she can take this kind of scrutiny and hatred, she’s not sure she can ignore it, knowing it's out there. He's upset, torn.  He wants to be with her, but he doesn’t want it to come at the cost of her mental health.  They talk late into the night [with a Singing in the Rain “tomorrow/it IS tomorrow” reference.] 

They part on bad terms and don't really talk to each other for a couple days.

There's a Q&A after the show one night.  Someone asks a pretty personal question about his relationship and he takes that opportunity to address everyone.

He makes a heartfelt speech about how much Erin means to him, how it started as friendship but she's become half of his heart.  He praises her humor, kindness, curiosity, the traits he loves about her.  He says he doesn't know where this will go, but he wants to find out.  He asks the audience to understand, to treat her kindly for his sake and hers. 

He hops off the stage and walks down the aisle to where she's waiting in the back row.  He pulls her to her feet, draws her into his arms, and kisses her before they leave the theater to applause.

The End


End file.
